


Early

by FluffyBeaumont



Category: Philip Marlowe - Raymond Chandler
Genre: M/M, The Long Goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyBeaumont/pseuds/FluffyBeaumont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marlowe goes to Mexico looking for Terry Lennox, who isn't dead, and learns something new about himself - or maybe something that he knew already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early

Early. I knew it was early because the unshuttered windows were touched with only the faintest glow of daylight, and there was barely any sound from the street outside. I was lying on my side, my arm around a warm, supine body, a body that breathed and shifted gently through all the tiny twitches and murmurs of deep sleep. At first I didn’t know where I was, and figured I’d had one too many Salty Chihuahuas the night before. The room gave me no clues, although it was pleasant enough with its pale beige walls and its long windows gazing down at the town of La Plana, somewhere in the blazing heart of Mexico.

“Why are you awake?” The voice came from the warm and sleeping body. The voice held a faint impression of an English accent. The voice was a man’s voice. “It’s barely five in the morning.”

It all came back to me in a rush: drinking in the hotel bar with Terry Lennox until very late – or very early – and stumbling back here and falling into bed.

Asleep?

No, not right away.

We’d sat on the bed for ages, passing a bottle of bourbon back and forth, the only illumination a single candle on a table in a corner of the room. We were remembering old times. That’s what people do when they drink together, isn’t it, remember? And he gave me a ring, a cheap thing made of tin that he'd won somewhere – yes, I’m wearing it – in a moment of outrageous jest: _Here you go, Marlowe. With this ring I thee wed._ There was an interminable conversation about women and automobiles and women, and it devolved into an argument: _See? We really are married._

It was round about then that he kissed me.

It was genuine, heartfelt, and as sexy as hell.

So I caught the lapels of his shirt in my fists and kissed him back for all I was worth. The rest of it was a glorious blur of sweat and skin and pleasure that built inexorably until it was almost too much to bear.

_What are you whispering? It’s Spanish, isn’t it?_

_Don’t go. Me muero de ganas._

Say it again. Oh, sweet Christ say it.

Over and over again. Over and over, amen.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually dreamed this story, and right before I woke, I felt that I was Marlowe, lying in bed with my arm around Terry Lennox. This is loosely based on The Long Goodbye, where the homoerotic subtext will almost burn your eyes out.


End file.
